The Ballad of Tobias Marchand
by Susan M. M
Summary: Master Bard Tobias Marchand overhears a song that is not to his liking.  Based on characters and situations from Mercedes Lackey's book INTRIGUES, volume 2 of The Collegium Chronicles
1. Story

**The Ballad of Tobias Marchand**

**Author's Note: **Standard fanfic disclaimer that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: Tobias and Lena Marchand and Lita Darvalis aren't my characters and Valdemar isn't my setting. Based on characters and settings from Mercedes Lackey's novel _Intrigues, _p. 35-50. Jerrin's ballad should be sung to the tune of "Greensleeves." Yes, I know the scansion is off and the rhyme scheme is forced. It's supposed to be. Think of "My Lady's Eyes." Oh, and "Rose Petals" – what little of it there is – should be sung to the tune of Leslie Fish's "Jack the Slob."

**The Ballad of Tobias Marchand**

by Susan M. M

_based on characters and situations created by Mercedes Lackey_

Tobias Marchand walked through the palace gardens, seeking inspiration in nature. Baroness Campella would swoon into his arms if he wrote a ballad comparing her to roses. And since the baron had died, her arms ... and her bed ... had been empty.

Marchand was a man in the prime of life. An embodiment of the cliche "tall, dark, and handsome," he looked like what he was: King of Bards and Bard to Kings. His robes were the bright crimson of a Master Bard. The color complimented his complexion perfectly. His face had been making maidens sigh for years. His dark hair now had just a hint of gray at the temples, just enough to make him look distinguished and emphasize that he was a man of experience, not a beardless boy.

Marchand sat on a stone bench. He inhaled deeply, but the rosebuds were too new to have much scent. As always, his posture was perfect. Which was a good thing, as if he leaned back he would lean into a decades-old hedge of rosebushes grown together into a thorny wall.

"_Rose petals soft, rose petals fair, are not more lovely than her hair_." That might do for a beginning, Marchand thought. As he mused on a possible next line, he heard voices behind him. Young voices.

"Just listen for a minute, Dalith. I know it's not ready to perform for Master Marilessa yet. Just listen and give me some construction criticism," a teenaged boy's voice pleaded.

Marchand heard a lute being tuned from the other side of the rosebush hedge.

"All right, Jerrin, but there had better not be thirty-seven verses," Dalith warned. "I have other things to do today."

"_A bard there was of high degree, whose silver tongue sung songs so sweet._

_Sapphire his eyes and hair like coal. To hear him sing was such a treat_."

Marchand didn't quite flinch. The boy's voice was good, but his lyrics –

"_Proud was this bard of his great skill, for he was great and so said all._

_Himself he said the selfsame thing. Alas! Pride goes before a fall_."

Marchand nodded. Ah, this was meant to be a parody. That made the lyrics in the first verse forgivable.

"_Trainees he did mistake, alas, mistake for pages in the hall._

_Orders he gave for errands run, and not a word of thanks did call_."

Marchand frowned. He'd thought Lita had been exaggerating when she complained about him sending trainees on a perfectly reasonable errand. Apparently others shared her opinion, although of course, these were Bardic students. Naturally they'd sympathize with a fellow student. As the old axiom said, thou must not expect to sup ere thou hast waited at table.

"_So great his pride, so vain was he, their faces he looked not upon._

_He did not look, he did not guess, his daughter_ –" Jerrin interrupted himself. "I need a rhyme for upon."

"Bon, con, don, fon, gon," Dalith recited. "You'd do better changing the lines."

His daughter? Marchand froze.

"How about this," Dalith offered. "_So great his pride, so vain was he, __He did not look, he did not guess, the trainee who before him stood, his daughter he did sore distress._" He sighed."It really needs a chorus, Jerrin. And I don't know which Master Marilessa will scold you about more: the rhyme scheme being forced or you daring to write a song criticizing the great Tobias Marchand."

"After what he did to Lena, he deserves it," Jerrin retorted. "You know what Master Zephan says: Never annoy a bard, for his revenge will be sung off-key by the town drunk years after you are dead."

Lena? That had been his daughter?

"But you're right that a chorus would improve it. Any suggestions?" Jerrin asked.

On the other side of the rose-hedge, Tobias Marchand sat silently.


	2. Song

**The Ballad of Tobias Marchand**

**Author's Note: **Standard fanfic disclaimer that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: Tobias and Lena Marchand aren't my characters and Valdemar isn't my setting. Based on characters and settings from Mercedes Lackey's novel _Intrigues, _p. 35-50. Jerrin's ballad should be sung to the tune of "Greensleeves." Yes, I know the scansion is off and the rhyme scheme is forced. It's supposed to be. Think of "My Lady's Eyes." And Dalith's right ... it really does need a chorus.

**The Ballad of Tobias Marchand**

by Susan M. M

_based on characters and situations created by Mercedes Lackey_

to be sung to the tune of "Greensleeves"

xxXXxxXXxx

XXxxXXxxXX

xxx

"_A bard there was of high degree, whose silver tongue sung songs so sweet._

_Sapphire his eyes and hair like coal. To hear him sing was such a treat_."

xx

"_Proud was this bard of his great skill, for he was great and so said all._

_Himself he said the selfsame thing. Alas! Pride goes before a fall_."

xx

"_Trainees he did mistake, alas, mistake for pages in the hall._

_Orders he gave for errands run, and not a word of thanks did call_."

xx

"_So great his pride, so vain was he, h__e did not look, he did not guess,_

_ The trainee who before him stood, his daughter he did sore distress._"


End file.
